HIS BLOG: DAY 8498

Seventeen years ago, I decided there was no room in my heart for anyone but *her*.

Long after she passed, I broke my solemn vow and grew angry at the miserable circumstances of my life. My thoughts and words were clouded again, like before she saved me. I spend my days in solitude once more, despising the loneliness yet unwilling to embrace another horror. Recently, I began to debate the cost of one versus the benefit of another. I now venture beyond the patio, fearful that I will see her each time.

Before I made my way home today, I caught a glimpse of her between the market booths. Was she hiding from the persistent mist, early July’s attempt to delay summer glory in the Pacific Northwest? I don’t mind the rain. It poses less danger than the deep waters I have grown accustomed to.

No, it was me. I was the prey. She was following at a distance until the time was right, but she had lost her skill as our years advanced. I cannot place a date, but I have seen that face before. It was our time to meet.

“You are not her,” I declared when she turned the blind corner I had slipped past, then waited for my shadow to appear.

“Hello again, Andrew.”

Again?

“I can almost see it in your eyes. You’re trying to figure out the last time we spoke. Are you still talking to yourself in that weird, semi-lucid speech pattern?”

“I am,” I confessed. “On both counts.”

“God, the blog is entertaining to read, but I wish you would fucking stop talking like that.” Sometimes, I do as well.

I gestured towards a table by the food carts, where we could sit and talk. She was charming. She wasn’t *her*, but the fascination proved to be absorbing.

There was no need to react when she mentioned reading my words. I assumed everyone did.

She knew everything and had an opinion on everything. “Your idiosyncrasies have been entertaining to follow over the years. Angela found it ‘fetching.’ Yes, I think she used to use the term fetching.”

My heart warmed with thoughts of her and our time together. She always called me “fetching.”

“Peggy thought it was quirky, but just shrugged it off because you were an American.”

When she spoke her second name, fear built.

“How do you know her names?”

She raised a hand to my face, a signal to stop speaking. This was her time, her moment to share a well-practiced soliloquy.

“I first saw Angela when you brought her back home, where we grew up. I guess you wanted to show off those old stomping grounds. You were married five years at that point — you still looked like the 12-year-old boy I remembered from summer camp.”

Summer camp. My first hint.

“I mentioned it to my mom. She talked to your mom. We found out you were back from your adventures.”

I wanted to hear more, but Angela’s chapter was over.

“I kept in touch. I mean, I found you moved to Brussels. New life, new wife, huh?”

Peggy.

“Did you know I was there when you two met? After all those years, it was supposed to be my accidental run-in. I was about to call out your name when I saw that stupid look on your face again. You were standing in the middle of the street, staring into that shop. You saw her.

“I walked right up to you and whispered, ‘Elle est magnifique.’ I already realized there was no chance you would notice me that day.”

“Magnificent! I remember you.” I remembered a voice that would never be *her*.

“Gorgeous. Close enough. Geez, eight months, and you never learned the language!” Even if I wanted to explain, it was not my turn to speak.

“Everything I planned vanished in the blink of an eye when you saw her. I was rejected again.”

Rejected again? My second hint.

“Four times before you met Hy’ing, we accidentally crossed paths.”

Valparaíso. Wonju. Köln. Singapore.

“Four times, but you never reached for me. You never attempted to connect.”

I recalled a face. “You weren’t her,” I confessed.

“Never say that again!” she yelled, slamming her fist on the table before taking a deep breath to re-center the calm and reiterate her mandate. “Never say that bullshit to me again. You broke my heart with those words as a child. We played in the pool, happy and laughing, until you looked at me with those sad eyes. ‘You are not her,’ you mumbled, turned, and just swam away.”

The pool. I remembered her.

“I sincerely apologize…” but the expression of remorse would never reach completion. Instead, her hand to my face again cut short all insincerity.

“I thought after Hy’ing you were a broken man.”

“I was,” came my assurance. “I am,” was my affirmation.

“That’s what I thought. It satisfies me to see you this way. I don’t try for a reunion anymore. I just like to read those pitiful words you post, to know that you feel the way I do, I mean did.” Her slip revealed more than she wanted.

I grew curious and had to know more.

“Then why today? What caused you to emerge from obscurity?”

“Emerge from obscurity?” she chuckled. “You are such a fucking tool.”

It wasn’t the answer I hoped for, so I re-inquired.

“Fine, why now? What do you want?”

“It’s simple,” she revealed. Raising her hand a third time, now directed away from me, she pointed into the crowd. “I wanted to stop you from meeting her.”

She was beautiful. For seventeen years, my heart lay dormant. When a drowning man cannot take a breath, there’s no need to circulate blood through his body. I remember my childhood, slipping into the water to stare at her body below the surface. I realized she was not *her*. Desire drained, but I maintained a yearning for more. My body needed the oxygen only a beating heart could provide. My lungs required the air above my head, beyond the water in which I was drowning. I looked up as I pressed my feet against the pool floor. Shooting to the surface, I could see air preparing to welcome me. My lungs would soon find the satisfaction of precious oxygen. My blood would quickly become vibrant, giving my heart the only thing it desired: a reason to pulse once more. I surfaced, made my declaration, then turned and swam away.

There was no reason to sit and stare when I saw *her* through today’s crowd. I pressed my feet to the ground, preparing to live after drowning for so many years. My heart rippled in anticipation of once again having a purpose. Before I exited our conversation, I felt a familiar breath whisper into my ear once more.

“I stopped you so I didn’t have to kill her again.”

What will versus What should be.

I smiled, at peace with my response to our game.

HIS BLOG: DAY 2319

 I’m delighted I took that chance. These have been the most enchanting four days of my life.

HIS BLOG: DAY 2315

I lost track of time during my new life in Shenzhen, failing to share my words for more than 500 days. For some reason, however, I knew today would be different as I ventured outside. With so many traveling home for the New Year, open-air markets once again hosted my pleasurable afternoon stroll. I marveled at the aromas of seasoned meats, dumplings, live poultry, fresh vegetables, and the sites of ornate silk garments, handbags, DVDs, and an odd assortment of children’s toys. The merchants always peddle their collections for purchase at reasonable prices. I was close to completing the day’s third voyage through Luohu when I saw her.

How many moments passed before my eyes turned away? A single? A thousand? For the very first time, I resisted that pull towards the one person I desired.

Even as my heart yearned to run back and scour the marketplace, dark memories gathered to remind me of what our future guaranteed. What will would be victorious against What should be. I purchased two fresh lotus roots and made my way home.

“Why did you stare so long, only to turn and run away?” Her voice did not startle me, for destiny will always press the inevitable. I continued to walk but slowed my pace; her stride was much shorter than mine.

“I already found the woman of my dreams,” I replied when she finally reached my side. “They were magical times — times I would never consider wasted or frivolous.”

I was cautious with my next words.

“Dare I let you into my life again…”

“I’m already here,” she interrupted.

“You are. But the question is deeper. Do I dare let you into my life again, embracing everything I yearn for? Can I risk adding you to her legacy? Do I threaten to turn my heart and mind cynical?”

“Why don’t we talk about this over dinner? You can cook.” I found comfort with her simple words.

Is it selfish for me to cut her life short so that I may satisfy my carnal desires? There is no doubt in my mind that what happened before, and the time preceding, will mirror itself in her blood. If she only breathes one day in my arms, though, will be one more than I hope she could ever take beyond their reach.

So I did, and we did. We decided everything was too glorious to pass.

HIS BLOG: DAY 1770

Cruel instruction often reinforces a softhearted message.

Today my reminder rings true: it is better to love. In all scenarios, it is better. She reminded me of that lesson every single day.

“My darling, a time may come when you no longer need me. I hope you always find comfort knowing that, though I will be sad, I’ll understand.”

I chuckled every time she sent the text, then fed her my response to our playful tête-à-tête.

“I always hoped you would remember by now, though I am more than happy to remind you again. A day may come, my darling, when you can no longer hold on to our life. It will not be my choice, but I’ll never mourn your loss. I will understand. I will always need you.”

Then she would call.

“Like before?” she would ask.

“Like before,” I’d reply, always adding, “but unlike any other time.”

My prediction came true today. I have no other choice than to rejoice once more. Every day of my life, for as long as I am cursed to go on, I will always need her.

HIS BLOG: DAY 1448

I wish it were possible to travel through time. I would visit the day we first met so many years ago. Not to interfere, but to bear witness. What was my reaction when I knew she was the one I desired? Was it the same image as my reflection in that glass today?

I had returned to the safety of isolation, writing these words to everybody instead of talking with anyone. Senseless conversations bored me; the only thought in my mind was always you are not her. Is detachment somehow necessary to find love?

Everything changed when I saw her today. It was foolish to assume she was waiting for me. Yet, could there have been any other reason for her to sit alone in that café, framed by the sash bars of its nine-panel storefront window, staring out to the Rue du Trône the moment I walked past? Impossible.

I felt a familiar breath whisper a word in my ear. Magnificent!

Saying goodbye to my love, I stepped into a new chapter.

“Excuse me,” I said while approaching her table. I planned to ask if I could join so that we might talk for a bit. Instead, she caught me off guard with an invitation to sit. My ability to form words declined as I listened and watched, falling in love with her once more.

Like me, she was far from a place she no longer claimed to be home. We were both searching for new starts. That silly girl swore our paths converged because her heart knew fortune would travel down the Rue du Trône, past that beautiful picture window looking into the café. She talks like I do.

That was the moment I discovered something never meant to be concealed. I know what I need, and she is enough.

HIS BLOG: DAY 1

Why did I choose today to start writing? Because on this special day, I have no one with me to celebrate. Before her, I preferred time alone. Seclusion kept me safe in an otherwise cruel world. I don’t recall choosing a withdrawn life over more pleasant options. It was all I had. It was enough. But when we met, I set aside my lonely past to become part of her world. She filled our days with excitement, adventure, and passion. She was more than I ever thought to ask for, more than I wanted, more than I would ever need. Without her, I was ignorant but satisfied. But, with her by my side, happiness blossomed beyond imagination, as did the expectation that it would never end.

She died today. All I can do is write these words, telling the world about her. Others might choose to cry in sorrow, but I welcome the tears of laughter that tickle my cheek. I need no consolation, nor will I hold on to this fantastic notion that she will wake me from this nightmare. Memories of our time together fill my heart. They leave no room for regret that we will not share another day. To focus on such despicable thoughts would slander her legacy. These words are our reminder.

It is not just the drowning man who needs to be saved.

For a man who needs nothing, to find love is the greatest gift.

Love is needed for the successful man to achieve greatness.

Love becomes essential if the satisfied man is to find joy.

With love, a man is prepared to follow when he already knows the way. Time will come when they brilliantly walk side-by-side. The time may come when he must carry her further. Now it is time to continue my journey alone.

I am already slipping from the reality we shared but, please, strike me hard if a day ever comes when I pity myself because she is no longer here. Curse me if I pretend for a moment that she did not supply me with more than I will ever need.

No, I promise to share the only returns she ever asked of me in exchange for her love.

Smiles.

Laughter.

Memories.